Bulbuls are rather upfront with humans but White browed though very common not many might have actually seen one, an inconspicuous but rather noisy bird these are found in bushes or scrub jungles often on the outskirts of human settlement. Olive colored above and paler below white brows are found in South India and Srilanka C.Jinarajadasa: a Theosophist poet
Mirrored in this flower,
Lies my world;
Flower, dear flower,
As your petals unfurled,
Saw you a flower
In the heavenly world?
I picked the collection from Theosophical society book stall. Jinarajadasa (1875-1953) was born in Sri L
anka, a Singhalese Buddhist he did his higher studies in Cambridge. He served as President of the Theosophical Society from 1945 to 1953, an exceptional linguist he wrote on wide range of issues. He says he is “passable minor poet”, somewhere else “I am not a poet-yet”. The blurb says he believed in the Japanese adage about writing a poem on each and every facet of life, be it a sunset, human relationships or yearning towards the infinite. Some of the poems are quite interesting. Here i quote few...‘Cock Robin’
Who killed his heart?
‘I’, said Karma,
‘We’, said Dharma,
‘Ours was that part.’
How did you kill?
‘With love’s arrow
Dipt in sorrow,
Shot with a will!’
Who said it speed?
‘I’, said Monad,
‘We’, said Triad,
‘We saw the deed,’
Who shed a tear?
‘I’, said the sky
Piteously,
‘He was my dear.’
Who sang a dirge?
‘I’, said the sea,
‘For he loved me
From verge to verge.’
Who made his grave?
‘I’, said heaven,
‘I was given,
His heart so brave.’
Thorns
Once there walked in Galilee,
One who brought the Godhead down;
Those who had the eyes to see,
Worshipped Him on bended knee,
Though of thorns He wore a crown.
For that you did God reveal-
Since you brought the Godhead down-
For that i to you did kneel,
Mine the fate past all appeal,
Yea, of sharpest thorns a crown.
Loving
Who love us, give us their loveliness
With which to deck our souls;
Who love us, give us God’s eyes
To read our fate writ on His scrolls.
Epitaph
I have fought a good fight:
Brothers, is it not so?
Have i not brought you light,
And surcease of woe?
I have run my course:
Not mine the victor’s crown:
Spent the speed of horse
As the sun goes down.
I have kept the faith:
Attest it, O sun,
Through life and through death.
To the One, the One.
